


Just Come For Me

by Lozza342



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Coughing, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:22:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21892111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lozza342/pseuds/Lozza342
Summary: The rain falls cold, like tiny icicles piercing through the skin of Shirabu’s arms. “Where are you, little shit…” He hisses softly, hope dimming with each beat of his racing heart. The chill of the wind bites at him, leaving his entire body tingling.He had been in bed, cosy and warm and dry. Now his trembling fingers fumble with his phone as he runs through the wet street, nothing but shorts and a t-shirt for protection against the onslaught of rain."Just come for me.” Was all the bastard said, like he was obliged to, like Yahaba knew he would.
Relationships: Shirabu Kenjirou/Yahaba Shigeru
Comments: 11
Kudos: 26





	Just Come For Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShitabuKenjirou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShitabuKenjirou/gifts).



> For the lovely [ShitabuKenjirou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShitabuKenjirou/pseuds/ShitabuKenjirou)...
> 
> Have I got angst for you...

The rain falls cold, like tiny icicles piercing through the skin of Shirabu’s arms. “Where are you, little shit…” He hisses softly, hope dimming with each beat of his racing heart. The chill of the wind bites at him, leaving his entire body tingling.

He had been in bed, cosy and warm and  _ dry _ . Now his trembling fingers fumble with his phone as he runs through the wet street, nothing but shorts and a t-shirt for protection against the onslaught of rain.

Shirabu lives close enough to check up on Yahaba most days, at his block of flats tucked away between the local supermarket and the dodgy electronics store. Today hadn’t been one of those days… until now, until a single, babbled phone conversation leaves him running for Yahaba’s life.

“ _ Just come for me. _ ” Was all the bastard said, like he was obliged to, like Yahaba knew he would.

“Fuck.” Shirabu curses, at Yahaba’s over-confidence so much like his own, at how right he is. “ _ Fuck. _ ” He repeats, at the tone on the other end of the phone pressed to his ear.

His phone slips from his grasp,  clattering to the floor and forgotten , and he runs faster, puffing cold breaths to the air. There’s a distinct line of water on his face that’s not so cold, that compliments the stinging flush on his cheeks. His throat and lungs burn with cold while his legs carry him on autopilot down the streets he knows so well.

Passing the supermarket, Shirabu has to dodge the traffic, ignoring the curses of surprise from the people he budges out of the way. He doesn’t have the mind to apologise right now, not with the apartment block in his sight, the run-down concrete chipped away and weathered by years of acid rain, the acid rain that burns his skin even now.

“SHIGERU!” Shirabu shouts, panting as he sprints up the metal steps of the building, jumping multiple steps at a time. The third balcony is where he stops, and a simple glance down the line of apartment doors is all he needs. There’s someone slumped over, propped up against the wall somewhere near the end of the row. “Sh… Shigeru…”

His lips feel numb, his entire  _ face _ feels numb, only the run of warm tears over his cheeks give him any feeling as he blinks, burning legs stumbling undignified to the body of his friend…

A wisp of vapour is the first sign of life when Shirabu gets close, Yahaba’s silver hair grey and sodden over his eyes. Shirabu can’t see his face, head fallen forward with his chin tucked to his chest. “Shigeru…” He repeats softly, kneeling down slowly on shaking legs. He gets no answer for a few moments, but he can see Yahaba’s breath, slow, steady. Extending a hand, Shirabu touches Yahaba’s forehead, peeling away the soaked strands of his hair. His eyes aren’t closed, like he expects. Instead, they’re wide open, staring down at his lap.

“Ken… Kenjirou.” He rasps, lungs crackling on a breath in. His swollen lips are red, slick with blood, and the next time he opens his mouth, on a shivering, careful breath in, he coughs.

The fit lasts a few seconds, but in that time, Shirabu lives through a lifetime. “Shigeru, Shigeru, breathe...”

There’s a sarcastic, bitter laugh somewhere in Yahaba’s throat, but it’s lost among the sputtering. “I’m trying…” Yahaba says, catching an uninterrupted inhale, “idiot…” Running his hand through Yahaba’s hair, plastering it back from his face, Shirabu watches his pale features falter, head falling back against the wall to look up at the sky. “I think… he got my lung…” He manages, Adam’s apple bobbing hard in his throat.

The movement of Yahaba’s hand is all Shirabu needs to realise what’s happened. Peeling his hand from below his sternum, Yahaba’s hand is red,  _ dripping _ red, and Shirabu presses it right back, heart in his throat.

He’s not calm, he’s  _ anything _ but calm, but his voice is mostly even when he says, “Put pressure on it, Shigeru. We should… get you in-” Looking to the side, to Yahaba’s front door, there’s a slip of light… The door is open, latch splintered. “-side…”

Yahaba doesn’t protest Shirabu lifting him, although he does wince when he hauls him up, squeezing his eyes shut in pain.

Shouldering the door open, Shirabu maneuvers the boy in his arms to his bedroom. Everywhere is trashed, valuables gone, picture frames smashed and in pieces on the floor, but he ignores all of it to lie Yahaba on his side in his bed, pressing the first dry shirt he can find on the floor to Yahaba’s wound.

“Where’s your phone, Shigeru, we need to call-”

Yahaba laughs, and the sound lights up Shirabu’s panicked heart. It’s cruel, how beautiful it sounds considering how awful his condition is. “You don’t think I called an ambulance first?” He teases, and Shirabu finds his cold cheeks burning at the smugness in Yahaba’s voice. Yahaba is the most frustrating person Shirabu has ever known and yet, his heart yearns for him. “I always wondered how fast you’d come for me…” Yahaba’s voice cracks, and his eyes glaze over with tears as he chokes on his words, “I was right.”

A shiver passes over Yahaba, and he coughs again, body curling forwards. Shirabu can do nothing but stroke fingers through his hair, drag up as many covers over him as he can to keep him warm before the ambulance gets there. “Hey, Shigeru… I didn’t know you put so much faith in me.”

While it’s supposed to tease, Shirabu realises… it’s true. He really didn’t.

Yahaba doesn’t stop coughing for a long time, tears rolling down his wet cheeks while he spits out red onto his sheets, leaving Shirabu stiff with panic. He wants him to stop… he wants him to be alright, he wants the red to stop bleeding through the sheets, or for the sounds of sirens to reach them. In his ever crumbling resolve, Shirabu shuts his eyes, gripping the soaked fabric of his shorts and crying silently. He doesn’t want Yahaba to see him cry, the bastard could use it against him someday, if…

All he can do it duck his head, allowing his tears to drip to his fists.

A sharp gasp brings Yahaba’s breath back, but Shirabu can’t look up, he can’t move. The crackling of Yahaba’s lungs is loud in the empty room, and Shirabu focuses on that only to know. Yahaba is still alive.

Something cold touches his cheek, and Shirabu’s eyes fly open to meet Yahaba’s dull ones, only a hint of amusement in them. “You’re crying over me… Here I was thinking your only emotion toward me was ‘angry’.”

“Fuck you!” Shirabu shouts, but the fingers don’t leave, curving delicately over his cheek, smearing his tears over it. “You know that’s not true!”

“So do you really…?” Yahaba asks. Despite everything, the purple-red of his lips and the reddening sheets, his body draining of blood and energy and life, he asks. “Do you really love me?”

Shirabu’s throat constricts, choking out an ugly sound as he sobs, lurching forward to grasp at Yahaba over his duvet, burying his head into his neck. “Shigeru… Don’t make me say it now. I’ll tell you after… after you…”

“Please…” He begs, threading his hand in shirabu’s matted hair and gripping it tight as he pleads.

“No, shit, I-”

“No?” Yahaba asks, and Shirabu grits his teeth at how  _ knowing _ it is.

Stubbornly, Shirabu stays silent, heaving heavy breaths at Yahaba’s neck.

“OK then,” Yahaba says, and it breaks Shirabu’s heart how… broken he sounds, “As long as you hold me… just a little bit longer.”

Shirabu grips Yahaba tighter, selfishly keeping his face out of sight and his cries silent. Yahaba’s grip loosens in his hair, hand falling away. “Of course I did, idiot.” He whispers, words catching in the back of his throat.


End file.
